


love is a laserquest

by oikita



Series: phantom gunmetal [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst, Cybercrimes, Futuristic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Stupid tags, Violence, a shitty cybernetic fic, author chose violence because they're violent, failed attempt at writing, it doesnt even look like one, miya osamu was fucking cloned what the hell, will add more tags maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oikita/pseuds/oikita
Summary: To stay human is to break a limitation.-Anne Carson, fromThe Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangosor: suna is a criminal and osamu pretends to be one just to save him.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: phantom gunmetal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193717
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: SunaOsa





	love is a laserquest

**Author's Note:**

> [playlist to listen to while reading](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3GPIL1uKtfKY89bYQn8Eqc?si=ZjcUrjnATWyCsvvVFSW4dg)
> 
> ( it's also the worst curated playlist i've done. this fic and the songs genre are new to me so if you have any suggestions, please suggest some in the comments lmao )
> 
> this is for Day 3 of Suna Rintarou Week 2021 : comfort, eyes, and crime :o) i uploaded this early because i got way too excited. that means this might have some errors that i haven't checked but will probably do so in the future. this is a practice for cyberpunk aus because i like those :)
> 
> **tw and cw:**  
>  \+ violence  
> \+ mentions of death (lots)  
> \+ gore, mentions of blood and bruises and injuries  
> \+ dystopia  
> \+ intense swearing  
> \+ use of firearms
> 
> if there are more things that should be tagged, let me know :)

The first thing Suna sees is his life flashing before his eyes right when a body of force pulls him in, right inside a dark alleyway where he sees nothing but the outside world and pitch black darkness when he goes forward. His vest is ripped, stained with blood (his own and someone else’s) and his cartridge of ammo is busted. There are no more bullets, his knives are gone, too, and had Suna kept on fighting, he would have said goodbye to his life without earning a proper funeral and would probably just get burned into ashes by the flames of those who would conceal his death in secrecy, as if erasing his entire identity from records, making people think he had never existed. 

His contraption which allows a holographic communicating system between him and his superior is broken, and the person who pulled him has not uttered a sound. Suna looks to his side and sees nothing, not a proof of presence beside him. He cocks his gun in a direction that feels heavy and he hears breathing. The breathing becomes more rapid until Suna sees a pair of charcoal eyes that glow dully in the dark like a flickering, weak source of light. 

“Rin, you should’ve been more careful,” the voice speaks. It’s so familiar that Suna almost recognizes it at first hearing. The heavy breathes that coat the dialect and tone of the voice make it blurry in Suna’s memory, especially since he doesn’t have enough brainpower to remember every voice and the face and name that own it. Those fragments of identity are scattered in his head like different cells. Not categorized, not organized. “I-I,” a pant, “If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve died.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Suna runs gore through his vile question. The gun is still cocked at the stranger but when he walks out of darkness, Suna nearly drops the gun. Gray dye has faded from the pigment of his hair, brown outgrowing from the roots. His face, albeit bloodied and bruised, is just as beautiful as it had ripened back in the days when Suna was still a kid and knew so little of the world. There’s a smirk on face before he brings his shattered watch to his mouth, fogging it up with his breath. “Break, message for Alpha Marine, I got him. He’s safe with me, over.” 

[ “Wait, is this Sa—Omega Marine? Okay, wait a second. Passing message to Kite Shoreline. We have Sunroom Rivers, over." ] 

[ “Roger that. Get home safe. The Agency’s security team will locate you by your chips and get you home. Alpha Marine, please head over to Grateway Inari to fetch them, over and out.” ]

“What the fuck?” Suna snaps. He points his gun again, but this time on the watch. Osamu, who’s the guy who pulled him to a safer place, laughs at him and taunts him by extending his arm farther from himself and closer to Suna. The latter grits his teeth and puts a finger on the trigger. “If you fuck around again, I will make sure to blast your fucking arm.” 

“Go ahead, Rin. I don’t mind.”

“Don’t call me that,” Suna hisses. “How do you know my goddamn code name, Miya?! I never let you know about it. You didn’t even have any idea I work for Raijin now.” 

“I overheard it from someone,” Osamu replies ever so casually, even had the audacity to look at his painted nails. He looks back at Suna again, whose eyes are glowing red in anger. “Put the gun down, Sunarin. It barely has a bullet on. It’s probably not charged enough either.” 

Suna drops the gun as his body, stumbling by the wall and he slumps his back against it. Sniffles are heard and Osamu knows it’s not tears. Suna is sneezing. Gunpowder usually tickles his nose. 

The other wants to chop his nose off. He wishes Osamu hadn’t seen him. He hopes he’d die of allergic rhinitis. 

Suna was eleven when the Digital Age took a big step, a trudge towards an enormous change and modernization. He was eleven when he learned how to operate machinery that required maneuvering through a large neon screen as if he were playing video games on a lain television. Instead of a school, he went to school and saw his teachers through a holographic screen, his classmates had static voices instead of melodious, earthly ones. It felt like talking to robots. 

Speaking of robots — his parents were great contributors to the agencies when it came to robotic equipment, especially chips that made the functions faster and smarter. Suna wasn’t smart enough to be like his parents unlike his younger sister, so he took it upon himself to become a soldier of defense just so he could justify his existence and not be sitting-pretty stuck-up like what his uncle would call him. The self-depreciation he caught from it stayed until he was fifteen and met new friends when he was deployed in Hyogo. His first friend was Miya Osamu, another soldier of defense, jack of all trades and master of none. He was really good but he participated as though it didn’t matter to him. “You’re a waste of talent,” said Suna to him with a deadpan expression that swam in his face as he fixed his gears, getting access to them by entering passwords and pressing his finger to match the registered fingerprint. 

“So are you,” Osamu replied, smirking as if he weren’t bothered by what should’ve been a mark of offense. “But then again, in this world, we’re all forced to go forward. It’s not my fault nor yours that we have to waste our potentials for a job we didn’t want in the first place.” Suna nodded to that, completing his uniform once all of the contraptions, straps and harness are flattened down to make his armor much lighter to carry. All of those materials of technology were fixed to be lightweight so the owner can attain flexibility and durability. Osamu smiled at the purity of Suna’s gears, its plain whiteness, nonchalance in form of an armor that matched flawlessly with Suna’s personality. They were given the choice to create their own suits, on a piece of paper that also determined their capability to give contributions to the military defense. 

Even then, young Osamu didn’t know Suna himself was going to betray the Agency they grew up in to become a criminal — member of an underground black market of smuggled goods, an assassin of one of the scariest yakuza families in Tokyo. He didn’t know he was already taking a liking for his friend until he disappeared all of a sudden as he turned sixteen and left their agency by his unannounced absences which led to him being taken off the list of soldiers. 

Streaks of blinding white light pass through Suna’s voice. Here he sees everything in glowing teal and white and black. He sits up, notices the IV fluid injected at the back of his palm and his patient’s gown — teal like Seijoh. From what he remembers, Seijoh has decided to team up with Inarizaki to build a larger faction and get much more support from the Federation of Cyberspace Militia. 

The thing is, Suna discerns the presence of a chair adjacent to his bed, his confinement in a prison cell, and a table with a plate of onigiri for lunch. Lunch. A droid enters inside, controlled by a psychiatrist who owns the code name of Oslo Antarctica. This psychiatrist is trained to interview criminals, to interview anyone who’s defied the laws of the Federation and the factions they are under. They are similar to the interviewers and interrogators of old fashion companies or police stations. This droid, named 494-AO, stands in front of Suna, looking like a real human with chipped elements, then sits on the chair. “Good morning, Sunroom Rivers. The current weather is twenty-eight degrees celsius, with a threat of thunderstorms by five in the afternoon. Current room temperature is adjusted to match with your current body climate of thirty-seven degrees celsius—”

_I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO HOME—_

“Sunroom Rivers, how are you doing?” 

“I’m fine.” Not. 

“According to your files, you are working for Raijin who sells phishing chips and trades smuggling goods with the Black Jackals. You are also fired by Inarizaki Co. for absence without official leave one thousand and fifty-two times violated before you came back. Is it true that—”

“Stop.”

“—you assassinated Oomimi Ren under the supervision of Sakusa Kiyoomi, youngest son of the Sakusa yakuza, heavy sponsors for the Shiratorizawa-Itachiyama Research Institute for Robotics and Computer Technology? SI-RIRCT is a suspected frontier for—”

“I said stop.” 

“—covering up all of the scandalous transactions that the Sakusas, Ushijimas and Miyas have interacted in—”

“Stop!” The letters transform into bombs and his prison cell is busted open, several members of Schweiden Adlers faction entering the room. Someone who goes by the code name of Star Ocean shoots the droid’s head to cease its operation. From its neck, violet flames start to burn the material of its metal body. Inarizaki’s security team bursts from the fire exit across the entrance that was busted open. However, Iwaizumi and his team are late and they arrive to see nothing but an empty, thrashed precinct. 

The next thing Suna sees is the outside world again, then he blacks out. 

This next room he’s confined in (God knows how many places Suna had been transported in like a fucking cargo equipment) is a familiar one. He saw this when Sakusa took him around and made him memorize the routes and hallways of the Sakusa second estate. This place is where most of their assassins stay, Suna’s old room when he was still seventeen, when he was a rookie bodyguard and transporter. 

Sakusa appears first in his view, clad in everything black as usual, leather as usual, piercing stare as usual. Suna is used to this and finds even his gory glare friendly. “Kiyoomi—”

“You’re lucky,” Sakusa starts off. “They fucking got us. Had the Adlers not been in duty near Inarizaki, it would be hard to get past Iwaizumi. You fucking cunt, I thought you’d bust their heads,” he huffs. “You almost got yours blown out.” 

“Thought so, too,” Suna chuckles, fidgeting his blanket. The criminal lords are his friends and they always have been. His parents used to tell him about the necessity of putting oneself on the evil side of things in order for the good ones to prevail in the future. Since then, Suna started to believe that the phenomenon of _necessary evil_ is as essential as believing that peace comes from ending wars. Cyber War never ends; it just keeps on beginning and beginning and starting and starting. It’s a never ending cycle of who ends up losing more people and who gets more favor from the country’s president. Suna won’t lose a job after all, if more and different people will hire him. More chances of dying, too. Komori calls him a suicidal maniac whenever he uses death as a reason to choose a difficult mission. 

“Anyway, I’ve got you covered. The Miyas are—”

“The who?”

“Miyas.” 

Fuck. 

“One of their representatives came here exclusively for you, you lucky asshole,” Sakusa informs him. “He’s hot. Not a goody-two-shoes like his dumb twin brother. I heard he’s done illegal shit in exchange for your damn life.” 

_I fucking hate you, Miya Osamu._

Suna turned sixteen when he said his last words to Osamu, a forgotten trinket of his past. 

“Come find me, Samu,” he had said. 

He fell asleep right after, but he was sure letting Osamu know of his future endeavor was the safest route he could take. What he didn’t hear and probably would never in his entire life was, “Of course, Rin. I’ll make every hell safe for you.”

“Come in.” _No, never come in. In fact, never fucking show your ugly fa—_

“Rin.”

The tall figure by the door is much cleaner than the one he saw almost a day ago. His boots’ soles click against the wooden floor, looking healthier and more handsome. His hair is cleanly faded by the cut, clothes crisp and ironed properly, free of blemish, wrinkle and stain. Suna wonders if he is the same person who looked bloodied and battered before. Osamu looks so different now that the other one must have been another person. 

“How are you feeling?” His voice cuts through the silence once again and Suna nods sheepishly, head sunken. Weight presses down the mattress which means Osamu sat down. His hand crawls towards Suna’s blanketed calf leg and then up to his thigh. Osamu’s body is sloped but he’s perfectly balanced. “They baited you.” 

“How can you say that? You were with me. You saved me—”

“It was a clone, Rin,” Osamu explains. “They didn’t modify his appearance and he doesn’t look like me if you check. He’s made to imitate to bait you. They autotuned my voice, too.” He retracts his hand and away sits properly, slightly slouched. He twists his upper body and looks down at his newly filed nails. “I… I’m sorry. Atsumu worked undercover for us to locate the clone after we found out that it was built illegally to abduct you. That’s why he was surprised and thought it was me. He made sure the Inarizaki leader’s plan goes smoothly, so our plan goes smoothly as well. Did they make you uncomfortable?” 

Suna chokes a sob. He should’ve realized that. Osamu would never take him to Inarizaki knowing he’d be arrested or worse, executed, if he’s taken back. Of all the sacrifices Osamu risked his life for, he hates it when he’s the reason why Osamu’s willing to chop his arm off just to keep him safe. It could have been his brother, someone much more deserving of it. He deserves to protect someone who will not let his effort go to waste. Suna doesn’t remember enabling him to do so — he just wants the other to find him. 

Little did he know, it’s Osamu’s personal decision to save him. It doesn’t matter whether Suna ends up leaving him again or he stays. After all, when one loves someone, even if they put a gun over one’s head, they won’t flinch when the other fires. 

“They didn’t.” Lies. But that’s okay. It’s better if Osamu will never know. It’ll pass. All will pass. 

“Criminal life doesn’t suit you, Rin. You can still leave.” 

“I could say the same to you.” 

Silence looms and patches its holes again. The muffled noises outside are already too familiar for these young soldiers of defense. Zip and zap there, gunshots and ear-piercing hollers for help. Suna doesn’t feel bile rising up to the tip of his throat anymore. Everything is much more bearable than before. For sure Osamu thinks of the same thing; despite the silence, Suna can easily tell such a thing. He knows Osamu just as he knows how to decipher codes and passwords. He knows Osamu just as he knows the constellations up in the sky that his mother used to point out to him before he went to bed. He knows Osamu just as he knows all 118 elements in the periodic table that his father made him memorize and he sang with his younger sister. 

He’s an entity Suna knows by heart, like a robot he mechanized himself. 

“Tsumu once told me about this universal bible verse that even atheists like us would appreciate,” Osamu speaks again. “He knows all of the sappy shit he can’t use for work, though. Eventually, it stuck with me and I ended up memorizing it, recorded myself saying it with two versions. The original and a modified version.” 

“Modified?”

Osamu whips his head to the side to face Suna with a comforting smile that imitates his smiling eyes, devoid of sin and impurities. “Tsumu said that when you replace the word _love_ in the verse, it becomes more heartfelt.” 

Suna smiles, finally, and it stretches across his face horizontally and strains his muscles. “Recite it to me before Sakusa calls us again.” 

“ _If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. _”__

__The irony of reciting a holy verse in the filthiest land stings Suna’s chest. When Osamu recites it, he sounds like an angel disguised as a devil. All he needs is a pair of wings and a set of more eyes; strip him off of his sins and his clothes of digital war and he’s everything atheism is afraid of._ _

“ _Suna is patient, Suna is kind. He does not envy, does not boast; he is not proud. Suna does not dishonor others, he is not self-seeking, he is not easily angered, he keeps no record of wrongs. Suna does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._ ” 

__He wishes to be the Suna Rintarou Osamu is talking about. Because maybe in another world, he isn’t a problematic piece of fucking shit who throws his life into a bed of flames. Because maybe in another life, he isn’t fighting the monsters humans created to make the world a progressing variable. Because maybe in another life, he can kiss Osamu without tainting his lips with his own sins._ _

**Author's Note:**

> why does it seem like i didn't follow the tier prompts jsdnfiwiw geez anyway, kudos and comments are appreciated. i'm redclubs on tumblr !! let's be mutuals there :o)
> 
> also i wanna write spin-offs of this one in the future, like same universe but different ships. but then nah. last time i did that shit i was stressed as fuck. consider subscribing! i don't post often but at least i won't annoy you in your emails nyahhahahaha


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